TO A ROBIN.

Robin Red-breast on the tree, Do you sing that song for me?

"You are listening it is true, But I do not sing for you. Higher yet on tiptoe rise, Don't you see a pair of eyes Peeping through the pleasant shade Which the summer leaves have made? There they watch me all day long, Brightening at my cheerful song, Turning wheresoe'er I go For the evening meal below. Dearest mate that ever blest Happy lover—peaceful nest,— Guarding well our eggs of blue, All my songs I sing for you!"